Living a Little
by mrpoohnminnie
Summary: Post Season 5. A short, multi-chapter fic about Mr. Carson and Mrs. Hughes living a little on the night of the Servant's Ball.
1. Chapter 1

I'll be honest. School and the end of Season 5 took the fic-writing sails out of me. I have several stories (or one long epic, possibly) to write. But I get writer's block when I dwell on them for too long. So here's a different approach from me: smaller chapters, smaller stories.

For inspirational artwork, see the link for this fic on my Tumblr page.

Season 5 Christmas Special spoilers are ahead. Lastly, please see the legal disclaimer on my author page.

* * *

Charles Carson was fussing away at his attire. He had changed quickly and returned downstairs to complete the final touches in his pantry. It was the evening of the Servant's Ball – the one night a year when his attire was wholly different from all other evenings. Dark trousers he rarely wore had been unearthed from his wardrobe a few days ago, blessedly aired out by that afternoon. His gray tie had been located, along with his coveted tie pin. It was a gift bequeathed to him by the family when he became butler. He wore it with pride.

In the small looking glass above his mantle, he checked his tie and tie pin, adjusting them uncomfortably. The two articles of clothing didn't always cooperate and he wasn't satisfied that the pin was perfectly centered.

Soon, he heard a knock followed by a gentle opening and shutting of the door. He didn't need to turn and look to know it was her.

"Do you gather everything is in hand," a Scottish lilt asked brightly. Elsie Hughes loved these moments when she could regard her betrothed openly, albeit with his back to her. She loved the tie pin with which he was fiddling. From years past, she knew it rested plainly in her field of vision when she averted her eyes from his.

Everything was same, and everything was different to Elsie Hughes. She had probably asked the same question last year. They had been closer then. Devoted friends, confidants. But now, on the cusp of this Servant's Ball, they were engaged. _Everything was different_, she surmised happily.

"It would appear so. Messrs. Barrow and Molesley should be in the Entrance Hall now."

"Andy was just taking up the last tray, for now."

"He's not a bad lad, Andrew," he mused. He had proven himself capably over the past few months.

"He seems quite a nice young man," she agreed with a thoughtful smile.

"As long as Miss Denker stays out of his hair tonight and in the future," he concluded before finally turning to her.

Elsie Hughes stood motionless, her lithe frame wrapped in a dark blue gown of silk and short-sleeves befitting the evening. She was elegance and grace personified.

His heart skipped a beat before thudding with force inside his chest. His eyes widened perceptibly as his jaw slackened.

She felt a flush of pride and love and something she'd rather not dwell on with a house beginning to fill with guests.

"My heaven," he gurgled instinctively but truthfully before swallowing. He stalked closer to her, slowly, trying not to ogle but helpless to do anything else.

His eyes traced over her like warm fingertips, and she could almost feel the trail they left over her. He had never looked at her quite like this, not even since their engagement. She was amazed and flattered and flustered.

_Such beautiful skin_, he thought. Of course, he'd seen her wear this and similar dresses during countless other Servant's Balls. He knew she was beautiful – of course he had, for years. But recently, recently he allowed himself to dwell on her fine features, of the warmth of the soft skin of her hands and cheeks. And now this – this vision of bare arms, slim ankles, and décolletage. He was a drowning man – drowning in the vision of his betrothed.

"Beautiful," he murmured earnestly. He couldn't say anything else, for he knew all he wanted was to kiss her.

Her eyes fluttered then. _Lord_, he thought. _How can she do something so little and bring me such joy? How can she give me so much? _

_Sentimental old sod_, he self-castigated, as tears of joy burned, threatening to tumble forward. He couldn't hide the emotion she evoked in him any longer as they secreted away in his pantry. He didn't want to after discovering the blessed truth that his love was returned.

She could discern something shifted in him, falling in love with him even more as she watched the maelstrom of great emotion wash over his features. It was humbling to know she was partly responsible for the reemergence of his tender, sweet heart. The scars now fully-healed, he was free to love her as openly as they dared.

But time was growing short despite her growing need to stalk closer to him. She would have placed a gentle hand on his forearm – knowing how much it would steady them both. But as rushed as they felt to return upstairs on Christmas Eve a fortnight ago, it was even more likely they would soon be interrupted now.

Her eyes were shining with affection as she chewed her lip. She didn't know that made him more distracted by her. But that was a discussion reserved for an evening in the future - for their cottage, for their bed.

Quickly, she moved on to a different tact. Her mouth upturned into a playful smile before she asked, "Will I do, Mr. Carson? Or shall I have another check of my hair in the looking glass?"

He knew that tone—light, flirtatious. He loved its challenging edge, and he was pulled from his sentimental spiral.

His voice was still a bit rough from the receding threat of romantic abandon and sentimental tears. But Elsie Hughes didn't mind. In fact, she relished the added dimension to his low rumble. "I think your hair is quite tidy, if I may say so."

He moved past her then, deliberately dragging his hand across hers as he reached to open his pantry door.

His eyes were twinkling when he asked, "Shall we?"

The smile barely hidden by her demurely lowered face as she sauntered past was all he needed to head upstairs.

* * *

To be continued.

And we're off! This shouldn't be too long of a story, but I crave and appreciate your thoughts as I am still editing the last few chapters. Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

It wasn't like before the war, much like everything else. The musicians played a greater range of tunes, including boisterous compositions to which Charles Carson had no interest in dancing. Instead, he kept to the predictable beat of a waltz, a foxtrot, and others.

The first dance was soon over – an elegant waltz. Lady Grantham had been gracious and capable, as always. She found it her duty to make him smile each time they danced at the Servant's Ball. He would get there, eventually, perhaps too jauntily. But tonight it was with great surprise that it took no effort to put him in good spirits. He was already there, an easy smile about him. Something was decidedly different, freer. Whatever the reason for his good humour, it suited him, she had reasoned.

It heartened Cora Crawley to see the man that captained their ship looking content after all these years. It brought a smile the lady of the house, one that went straight to her cerulean blue eyes. It was a look that had captivated her husband dancing a few couples ahead of her during the opening waltz. The feeling was contagious, Lord Grantham had surmised when he observed the diligent housekeeper in his arms.

There was something about Mrs. Hughes. _Radiant_, Robert Crawley hypothesized. He didn't interact with Mrs. Hughes that often during the course of any given day. But there was something decidedly different about her throughout the past year. She seemed younger, lighter in spirit in a manner that brought a lively spark to her deep blue eyes.

Despite Tom and Sybbie's departure, it had been a fortuitous year for the entire Downton household, right down to the woman who made the house spotless and inviting. At that thought, Lord Grantham preened quite proudly, letting the music carry him forward with confidence. His good mood lasted well beyond his opening dance with Mrs. Elsie Hughes.

* * *

The housekeeper had chatted amiably with a few tenant farmers and their wives as she slowly made her way through the tables off to the side in the Great Hall. She made sure to give her regards to Mr. Drewe, who was present despite his wife apparently at home caring for one of their children that had taken ill.

Now she stood surveying yet another successful evening. The refreshments were well stocked and the guests in good spirits. She was free to observe the couples circuiting about the Grand Hall. Mrs. Patmore was bobbing along with Mr. Aldridge, who was gamely embracing the traditions of the Crawley-MacClare family. He was a cheerful, quiet soul – a perfect complement to the boisterousness of Lady Rose.

And then there was Mr. Carson.

Mrs. Crawley had approached him in that straightforward way of hers a few minutes before. Years ago, he had been taken aback by her forwardness. Truth be told, he still found the process jarring despite knowing she would inevitably find him amongst the throng of partygoers at one point during the evening. Tonight had been no different.

Mrs. Hughes smiled as she watched on, knowing what was about to occur. She had averted her eyes quickly after he began looking about as he walked regally towards the makeshift dancefloor with Isobel Crawley in tow. She knew he would look her way with those soulful, hazel eyes that could turn spellbindingly dark.

Despite the exhilarating feeling of him looking at her so freely in his pantry earlier this evening, she was desperate to not lock eyes with him – not now.

Save for her dear sister Becky, their entire world – personal and professional – occupied the Great Hall. And this world of theirs was not yet privy to the reason both exhibited the outward manifestations of finding inner peace. Not even Mrs. Patmore knew officially that Elsie Hughes and Charles Carson had reached an understanding – about a house or a hand in marriage.

There would soon be a time for them all to know. Charles Carson and Elsie Hughes would allow them into the front garden of their sanctuary of inner peace, perhaps their front rooms. Some would gawk like curious onlookers through the windows. Others would scoff. Some would rejoice with raised voices of glee. And perhaps there would be some to shed tears of joy, just as they had done on that fateful Christmas Eve.

Until then, their nearly-realized dreams–of a life and house of their own shared together–would remain their own. That is, if they could survive the night and the next few days until they finally broke the news.

With a steadying breath, Mrs. Hughes smiled at the man approaching her. Dr. Clarkson had caught her eye and had begun to walk over to her resting spot. For different reasons, both wished to be momentarily distracted from the couples dancing happily about the Great Hall.

* * *

His dance with Mrs. Crawley finally over, Charles Carson had checked off one more thing on his mental list for the Servant's Ball. He had happily relieved his underbutler and footmen from their duties temporarily to allow them a turn on the dancefloor.

In truth, Charles Carson was grateful for the distraction–his need to serve. He had felt so delightfully off-kilter in his pantry and he was loathed to allow that feeling to be squelched by overseeing the evening's festivities. Months before, he would have berated himself for thinking so unprofessionally. But now he knew that his life in service, while providing him with purpose and relative wealth, was but one aspect of his life.

When he realized he thought of it that way–as no longer his sole purpose for being—it has been a transformative moment. After several long nights of looking backwards and forward in consideration of his life, he had come to that conclusion. How he got there, he could only reason, was her doing.

He had been enraged and defensive at first, at the way she poked and prodded into his past. It was meddlesome and completely out of bounds. But later, when the air had cleared, his young love shared, he had been grateful. He remained so.

It was in that heady haze of gratefulness that he ventured to spot her in the crowd. Technically, he always knew where she was that evening from the moment he turned to first gaze upon her in his pantry. But as for drinking in the sight of her, basking in her glorious presence, he had resisted the temptation since they left his pantry earlier that evening.

His fiancée was now dancing with Dr. Clarkson to a more boisterous tune and she was gamely twirling about. All of the dancers looked quite desultory in their efforts, and he was amused to find her a part of it.

He tried to not let his eyes rest too squarely on her, tried to maintain a sense of decorum and a scanning set of eyes. But the way her cheeks flushed and her muted smile brought wonder to her entire visage made his task quite difficult.

Charles Carson could do many things, a man of discipline and grace. But he could not keep the traces of a prideful, indulgent smile off his face as he caught sight of the twirling skirt of his fiancée among the dancing throng.

If he stood there much longer, he would give in to temptation to stride across the Great Hall and cut into the dance between Dr. Clarkson and Mrs. Hughes, regardless of the silly song playing. Rules of decorum and the shroud of a cloaked secret would be cast off unceremoniously in the process. As unthinkable as an act it might have been a year ago, Charles Carson was increasingly becoming impatient with tradition.

Swallowing, he stood watch a few moments more with chin slightly bent towards the dance floor.

* * *

Lady Mary Crawley had risen from her table after conversing with Granny, feeling the simultaneous sensation of a sting and soothing balm from her strong yet secretly loving grandmother. Neither woman made it particularly easy for any person to love them. But fortunately, Lady Mary did have supporters who stood with her despite her many faults.

As a gaggle of outdoor and indoor staff headed to the punch table, Lady Mary had just spied her most steadfast supporter standing alone.

Rather than his normal look of dignified aloofness, Carson had the oddest look on his face. His eyes were slightly lowered, seemingly lost in thought.

She took a leisurely path towards the butler, not wanting his countenance to change on account of her approach. She slowly crept behind him, trying to see whatever it was that possibly caused his unreadable expression that looked as if he was simultaneously pleased and anxious.

"Has something struck your fancy, Carson?"

* * *

To be continued.

A/N: I am simply blown away by the reviews, follows, likes, reblogs, and such on here and Tumblr. Thank you all so much for welcoming me back from my writing hiatus! Share your thoughts if you have the time. I'd love to read them and respond as quick as I can. Thanks again.


	3. Chapter 3

Previously on _Living a Little_:

She took a leisurely path towards the butler, not wanting his countenance to change on account of her approach. She slowly crept behind him, trying to see whatever it was that possibly caused his unreadable expression that looked as if he was simultaneously pleased and anxious.

"Has something struck your fancy, Carson?"

* * *

Lady Mary had caught him completely off-guard with her stealth-like approach. Alarms went off in his head with abandon.

But, blessedly, the band was concluding their boisterous tune with voluminous flourish. In the din of departing couples, he had motioned to the dance floor. It was an easy set of cards to play. He knew Lady Mary had always enjoyed a turn, ever since he taught her dance all those years ago.

Lady Mary Crawley led the way, allowing Carson to marshal a completely neutral façade, or so he hoped. He even managed to avoid glancing in the direction of the Scottish doctor and housekeeper leaving the dance floor.

The first strains established a waltz time, and they began their well-practiced progress. Charles Carson counted down the steps until she continued her inquiry. He didn't have to wait long.

"Something seemed to be pleasantly preoccupying you, Carson."

He gave away nothing, now, despite his detection of a peal of laughter that was unmistakably from Mrs. Elsie Hughes. Despite the reliable beat to which he now moved, the sound of her mirth was the only melody he fancied hearing in that moment.

But Lady Mary was determined. She continued with sincerity. "You can tell me. Goodness knows how much I've shared with you," she remarked warmly.

His head bowed slightly, humbled by the thought. "And I have been most privileged, milady."

"It's all in the strictest of confidences, Carson," she assured brightly.

"And I thank you for that, milady. You merely caught me while I was thinking about the passage of the year."

"It's well past New Year's, Carson," she goaded good-naturedly.

"Indeed it is, milady. But the Servant's Ball also provides a time of reflection for me, as well. Many years ago on this occasion, your grandfather gave me the tiepin I'm wearing soon after deciding I was suitable to become his butler."

She smiled at that, thinking back to the very first Servant's Ball she had danced with him. He had been a giant of a man to her, but his lead had been gentle, capable. It seemed some things never changed.

"From the looks of things, it looked like you had a successful year."

"In a way, I did. It didn't always seem that way, but it was quite a good year, in the end." And at that, Charles Carson couldn't help the way his features brightened at the thought of a certain Christmas Eve when his life became filled with purpose.

But Lady Mary missed this, entangled as she was in her own recollections. Her eyes clouded as she admitted, "I wish I had your good fortune, Carson." She tucked her chin slightly – eyes focused on the slight slope of his broad shoulders.

He regarded her critically for a moment before a thought dawned. Venturing a glance to the couples around them, all of his concentration soon focused on her.

His voice was earnest - quiet, as quiet as it could be with the music playing. "It's not impossible, milady – to usher Downton into a new age for the good of Master George and to be an individual free to find love again."

Her head lifted immediately to appraise him. "Goodness, am I that transparent?"

His eyes turned soft then. "Not to everyone," he remarked sincerely with a slight tilt to his head.

She held her breath for a moment, letting the words and emotion build up before she finally admitted her misgivings.

"I'm not who I thought I was, Carson. I find myself embracing the modern world far more than I thought I would."

His brows stitched with the empathy that comes with paternal regard. "And you're afraid of how his lordship will handle it now that Mr. Branson is no longer the estate agent?"

Her smile was grim as she responded, "I can already foresee any number of disagreements – about my life, about the decisions we make for the estate."

He pursed his lips, jutting out his chin slightly as his eyelids opened and closed languidly. The words he sought were momentarily fleeting. As much as a father-figure he knew he was to her, there were certain lines he would never cross.

"If I may say so, milady, his lordship was quite understandable about building the cottages. He is embracing the modern age, on his own terms granted, but embracing it nevertheless."

She sounded less than convinced as she responded, "I suppose."

They turned about in silence for a time and he could already see her resolve rebuilding slightly. _She never was down for very long_, he thought.

She regarded the dancing pair of Lady Rose and Mr. Atticus. Their youth and modern sensibilities were well-received, for the time being. Perhaps there was hope, after all.

Soon, Lady Mary's secretive smile returned before she asked, "And what about you, Carson? Is there any hope of you 'embracing the modern age'?"

Oh, she could be flippant, even with him. But she needed to know the truth that staid Charles Carson was capable of more than most realized.

"In my own way, milady, I believe that I can."

"Oh? Now you must share."

He bristled slightly, trying to find the precise words to say just enough.

"I'll concede that I wasn't pleased with the situation initially, but being a part of the War Memorial committee demonstrated something to me. As much as I am honored to serve the Crawley's as your butler, I did enjoy acting on my own accord during the enterprise. It reaffirmed the simple fact that I am individual – something more than my post."

Lady Mary's eyebrows rose notably at the modern thought of the butler. Years ago, when she almost left Downton for the financial security of Richard Carlisle, Mary Crawley remembered how reluctant Carson was to leave his post – leave this house. He seemed intent on being butler of Downton Abbey – a physical embodiment of her home.

But times were changing. While shocking, it somewhat comforted her to know he was capable of understanding part of the world she found herself embracing with abandon.

Their dance began to wind down, and Mary Crawley came to a realization of her own.

"Well, if you can manage standing alone in this modern age, Carson, I certainly can try."

He paused then, knowing his partial admission was leading her down an unhelpful path. He concentrated on the strong pillar next to Elsie Hughes as he spun Lady Mary around of what remained of the waltz. "Just remember that no man is an island, milady," he uttered mysteriously.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"You have your loved ones, milady – on this earth and beyond. If I may suggest – never discount the role they play in keeping you on your feet."

He sounded so sure, and it plainly intrigued her. She considered him family, of course, a permanent fixture of her life.

But Lady Rose had made an off-hand remark months ago that had stuck with her ever since. And in that moment, Lady Mary could hardly place Charles Carson.

A thought began to dawn, but she was incredulous to where else it might lead. "I'm sure you don't need help staying on your feet, Carson," she asserted with charm as the music finally concluded.

With a slight bow, he smoothly placed distance between them as they walked towards the tables dotting the edge of the hall. He wanted nothing but to return to his duties, to be away from this treacherous conversation. In the periphery, he could see Lady Rose and Mr. Atticus fast approaching.

But one pearl of wisdom remained and it was time to impart it.

"Even a butler needs steadying from time to time, milady, especially when he moves with the times."

* * *

To be continued.

A/N: I'm SO sorry this took an age to post. It gave me new respect for Julian as I tried to find the right words to serve as Carson's bit(s) of wisdom for Lady Mary.

A/N: For the next chapter, which shouldn't be too long in posting, it will be a mostly Lady Mary-free zone. Mrs. Elsie Hughes will very much be in charge, so look forward to that when/if you leave a review.

Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

The ball had ended. An hour or so had passed and the house was darker, quieter.

Elsie Hughes had closed up shop, thought of waiting for him, curled up in her chair in his pantry. Her feet ached from dancing, dancing with everyone but him. Despite the fatigue and the long day, she was restless. She mounted yet another trek up the stairs. Following the tell-tale slivers of light, she found him just beyond the servery before the servant's banquette in the upstairs dining room. The darkness partially cloaked her – her dress and shining eyes. And she was free to observe.

He was simply dashing, swaying to an unheard song that filled his whole countenance. He had danced plenty that evening. Her ladyship, Mrs. Crawley, and Lady Mary looked quite pleased to be dancing with such a capable partner.

Now, he practically sashayed about the hidden area of the dining room. His tiepin was proudly shining and it was slightly odd to not see him in his evening livery this late at night. But the servant's ball compelled the servant's to dress in a more relaxed manner. Charles Carson, however, found it difficult to relax, even during a ball held in their honor. Even as he concentrated on sorting out the servery, looking slightly rushed–he was happy, that she could discern.

Somehow he knew to look for her. They could always find each other in a crowded room, in a sprawling party across the lawn. He had always thought it was a matter of professional harmony. But as they had ventured to keep their acknowledged love a private affair for the time being, he found his eyes inexorably pulled towards hers. It was a delightful, albeit inconvenient, discovery over the past few weeks.

To his alarm, his fascination with her almost completely sunk their secret when Lady Mary nearly caught him out. But even with his parting pearl of wisdom to Lady Mary, it appeared his engagement was under wraps, for now. Despite feeling relief, unease quickly settled in. While his cryptic admission to Lady Mary wouldn't faze Mrs. Hughes in the slightest, he needed to tell her of his actions

Smiling ruefully, the truth of his statement to Lady Mary – that he needed steadying as he moved with the times – was never more apparent to him in that moment. In all his dithering about the future, Elsie Hughes would steady him – with a raised brow, a warm glance, or a soft hand. Somehow, she would keep his fears at bay.

And now, his eyes rose automatically, finding her emerging from the shadows. Her gait was the same, her glowing eyes perhaps even brighter now that they understood each other so fortuitously. He breathed deeply as she approached before remembering himself. "I'm almost finished," he remarked hastily. It was late and their nightcaps had suddenly risen to even greater heights of importance.

"It's alright," she soothed with warm eyes and a kind smile. _So easy_, he thought.

The rest had gone up for the night. She had seen to it personally, knowing that a reward would be for the taking somewhere on the main floor.

The evening had been another success – a servant's ball conducted impeccably. It was a wonderful follow up to a most eventful Christmas Eve party. Mr. Branson and Sybbie were not present this time, having just arrived in Boston. But that did not stop tradition – housekeeper dancing with the lord of the house, butler with the lady of the house.

It would have been a wonderful opportunity for the newly betrothed couple to dance together – sharing their news, or even merely living a little again in front of their staff. Their new status was a precious thing. It wasn't something to bend or break easily under scrutiny. But that didn't mean the couple wanted to invite prying eyes just yet.

Notably, neither was exactly pleased with reality for one simple fact: they had never danced together. It was the sentimental Charles Carson that shared his maudlin thoughts one evening.

* * *

_With knitted brows, he ruminated, "Another ball, another dance without you. I wish it was different." It was a simple admission. But to her, it was profound. _

_Her growing smile had comforted and warmed him on that chilly eve._

_"I know," she responded with commiseration. Since their engagement, Elsie Hughes was in endless awe of how much Charles Carson thought about the details about their relationship. Without warning, she found small glimpses into that inner-world in the past few weeks. Her love for him was steadfast well before Christmas Eve. But somehow the roots grew deeper, now that she was able to reflect on it, to share her blooming smiles as they continued to build their lives together. _

_Sighing, she concluded pragmatically, "But it's probably for the best. I wouldn't exactly enjoy an audience quite yet." She wasn't disappointed over his words or the thought of it being a matter of not flying in the face of tradition. That he'd asked her to marry him for love, and love alone, showed that Charles Carson was capable of casting off the hold of tradition if he felt so inclined. She didn't need any other proof. _

_"I'm not sure I would even notice an audience," he murmured much to his own surprise. Chocolatey-hazel eyes locked with sapphire orbs. Nothing could be heard but the steady ticking of the clock and an unmistakable intake of breath._

_Later, he took her hand in his that evening, kissing it reverently as he'd done for the last fortnight. Nothing more, nothing less (save for a kiss on the cheek on New Year's). For two people that spent their lives not overflowing with effusiveness, it was a considerable, intimate act._

_Time would slow in those moments, and so would his grazing lips. She could feel a slight cool rush with his sharp inhale, the tip of his soft, cold nose, and the warmth of his faintly moist lips. She'd made a study of him for years. But to know how his lips felt on her skin after he'd unconsciously licked them was a new and pleasant surprise. _

* * *

All of that had felt like such progress, until the way he gazed at her so transparently before the Servant's Ball.

The day was long past over, but still she felt incomplete. The way he had looked at her, made her body come alive without even touching it – she wondered what else could be unearthed from her regal, stoic, yet soulful betrothed.

His work brought him closer to the doorway of the servery, and his attention followed suit. Her eyes were going softer by the minute, entrancing him. Distantly, he wondered how long they could keep their news private. It was unprofessional to gaze soppily upon the housekeeper, of course, despite how she increasingly enchanted him now that they were engaged (with tales of her youth, of sweet Becky, with her laughter and the smiles she gave him behind her locked door). But they had agreed to share the news after the sting of Tom and Sybbie's departure lessened. It would be another week, they gathered. Or it would be as long as Lady Mary allowed his cryptic comment to go unexplained.

But that dress, and how well Elsie Hughes wore it. She could wear her winter robe and a hair cap and he'd still find her endlessly beguiling. Lord knows he'd guiltily made a study of her necklines in all of her housekeeper attire. _But this. _

Soon, his efficient movements halted. Sorting out the servery for the following day's breakfast was soon trumped by a burgeoning need. Only his hand on the cupboard prevented him from reaching out to her to kiss her hand, perhaps her cheek. _Perhaps more._

She'd seen that look before – knew that the soft gaze would soon give way to a masterful gleam. That look alone made her breach catch, as it had done for almost a year now.

A gleam of her own soon developed–a plan had soon hatched.

Before his gleam appeared to signal all work was off, she heeded, "Come and find me when you're through. I'll be in the morning room or the libraries."

A turn of the heel, and she was gone.

Charles Carson was perplexed and intrigued, pausing for a moment to recollect on the beguiling sight of her retreating form. Redoubling his efforts, his tasks were nearly completed in short order. He knew never to engage in that sort of thinking, let alone follow her retreating form with his eyes when others were around. But he knew she had seen to the staff's departures for their waiting beds. It's what had made him so impatient to finish.

* * *

Crossing into the smaller library, Mrs. Hughes instantly regretted her plan once she attempted to put it into action. Mr. Carson, the dear man, would likely become upset at the very notion she now contemplated. But Mrs. Hughes picked up a slim volume and began reading hastily. Perhaps there was some chance of success, after all.

* * *

To be continued.

A/N: Thank you *so much* for your support for Chapter 3. It is a difficult balancing act with Lady Minx, I mean, Mary. Dee, I think you said it best - she is self-absorbed, but she also does cares deeply for Carson. It's very difficult to put that into words on any given day. But now that he's allowing himself to be seen in a different light, especially when everyone gets word of the engagement, well... that just upped the stakes quite a bit, didn't it?

If you have the time, I'd love to read your thoughts - so share!


	5. Chapter 5

If you're so inclined, you might spotify, youtube, or utilize whichever platform of choice to listen to the following song as you read along: Sonata No. 8 in C minor, op. 13, "Pathetique" by Beethoven.

* * *

Previously on _Living a Little_:

Crossing into the smaller library, Mrs. Hughes instantly regretted her plan once she attempted to put it into action. Mr. Carson, the dear man, would likely become upset at the very notion she now contemplated. But Mrs. Hughes picked up a slim volume and began reading hastily. Perhaps there was some chance of success, after all.

* * *

He had never partaken in the sort of hide-and-seek games the Crawley daughters played about the grand house. But he would be victorious every time if he were ever to play it. And now, he set off in search of his love on the main floor. He quietly stalked to the morning room. It was quiet, cool, empty. It needed the growing sunlight of a pleasant morning to be a room that he cared for, personally.

Securing the door with stealth, he stilled for a moment, thinking he had misheard something from the library. Entering from the door furthest from the small library beyond the columns, he could feel the increasing chilliness in the room. But that's not what concerned him.

A faint sound, one he couldn't actually sort out while in the hallway, was marginally stronger now. He stalked closer, his mouth gaping and eyes bulging in disbelief.

_Elsie Hughes,_ he huffed accusingly in his mind. She would never know that he had thought of her Christian name, had whispered it in the dead of night, on noisy trains in empty compartments, in their empty house the last time he visited it before putting their names on the title. Ever since their world had altered perceptibly through their actions together, grown more intimate after paddling in the sea, he had ruminated over her name in his mind. But he wasn't ready to voice it to her yet – not until they shared vows, shared a time reserved for them alone. He wouldn't say it with ease, probably, until they had long since lived in their cottage together.

But now, she was testing his reserves. He ventured closer to her - to the table before the small sofa - not venturing to speak until he had passed his lordship's writing desk. "What are you doing," he demanded.

Not fazed in the slightest, Mrs. Hughes responded, "What does it sound like? I'm finding something suitable for a dance."

"But the noise," he began to insist despite the instant tug to his sentimental heart.

"Could you hear the wireless when you were in the hall?"

His arms shook helplessly by his sides as he thought. "Not really, no…" he admitted, but still mortified.

"Well then," she insisted.

In his ears, they stood to wake the whole household. But he turned to look at the table that was home to the contraption. A booklet was opened, turned to a page detailing signal strength and volume control. She was determined, but that was readily apparent from the set of her jaw and hands on her hips.

She could tell he was torn but starting to topple. And her heart surged at his resigned yet flabbergasted expression. Reaching for his bent arm, she used it as an anchor to rise to her toes. Any remains of his discomfort petered out as her lips finally brushed his cheek. It was the first time she had kissed him.

The internal alarms began to quiet, allowing him to process the sounds emanating from the wireless. It's wasn't a boisterous ballad or a sensational popular song. It wasn't anything that he'd fear Lady Rose would infect the house with when they first acquired the device. Instead, a slow, instrumental song was playing.*

It enveloped them, this hopeful, simple tune. It called out to him to sway, to feel her in his arms.

Gazing in that masterful way of his, chocolate and flecks of grey drew her under his spell. She beamed back expectantly, with a dipped chin and upturned, glittering, sapphire eyes. These were looks of joy–of knowing that the person sharing their gaze was the object of and reason for the warmth that spread through them, for the contended feeling at the end of the day, for the blood surging through their veins.

She had always been the one to advance forward in these intimate situations. His heart had leaped when she moved ever closer to him on the night he'd proposed. It was their way. But now–with her kiss still warming his check, the soft music playing low, and those eyes beckoning him–he slowly closed the distance.

This was the moment, and he took it.

* * *

With the grace and poise of a titled lady, Elsie Hughes demurely took his outstretched hand. He bowed as regally as any earl, kissing her hand in his reverent, familiar way. "May I have this dance," he asked in that rumbling tone of his.

Her lips twitched. She couldn't help herself. "I thought you'd never ask."

His eyebrows raised in quiet amusement for a moment. But his other hand could not be without the feel of her beneath him for much longer. His movements were slow, deliberate. The heat radiating from her frame was delicious, lapping at his skin as his hand passed between the slight curve of her waist and her arm, intensifying as he rested it gently on the middle of her back.

His fingers faintly tested, feeling the fine, soft fabric of her dress, the edge of her corset that she'd kept to wearing after everyone else had done away with them. Of course he'd thought about it, wondered why, knew he'd never have a chance to ask why she kept to the contraption (those were questions he wondered if even husbands should ask). He shook himself inwardly, brought himself back to the moment and the music playing. He would ask her one day (after all, she was always happy to catch up with the times, and a corset seemed uncharacteristically old-fashioned), but not now.

Now, he savored everything about her – corset, and all.

The broad expanse of his back was hers to roam with her left hand, though she settled for minute explorations. She could feel the sinew and strength in him as he gently led her about in a gentle circle to the beat of the slow waltz on the wireless.

The crisp air of the evening had chilled her hands as she'd frantically read through the wireless manual. But now, he warmed every part of her. She felt the steady pumping of blood through his veins with her curled fingers encased by his, giving life to them both as they both danced on.

His lead was sure – solid yet delicate – placid yet full of earnest longing – as the music continued on. He took pleasure in how she held fast to him, demurely but surely palming his shoulder as they slowly circuited in front of the fireplace in the small library. His smile was muted, but his eyes could not hide his immense pleasure to be holding her. As his nostrils flared and a contented sigh filled his chest, he was increasingly glad he hadn't given in to temptation earlier and asked her to dance in front of everyone.

Both would have been in heaven and hell – embracing their betrothed, but unable to relish the feast for their senses.

Despite his concern about the noise, he danced on. Concerns fell away like layers of clothing after coming in from the cold to a raging fire. All that was left was her – her lithe, elegant frame, warm heart, and sapphire eyes. He was besotted.

For months and months, she had cratered under this masterful gaze of his. Her eyes had fluttered, her voice had cracked. It had been sheer disbelief, because, surely, he wasn't living a little with his flirtatious comments. But he had, had felt something deeper than she ever thought he would acknowledge even while her own feelings had crystallized.

His countenance now, amidst the shadows and slim shafts of light from the few lamps burning, it spoke to a part of her she long thought never existed. Tingling and contented, she couldn't look away, couldn't keep her upturned face from marveling at the man inside her embrace.

She would never have been this close had they danced together earlier that evening. If they had thrown caution to the wind, they might have managed to keep their secret if they had sworn never to look each other in the eyes. They communicated so much with a glance, and that was well before when their relationship became a matter that ran far deeper than professional regard.

But when looked at her so openly in his pantry prior to the ball, she knew that they would be helplessly transparent to all in attendance.

The entire world would have been privy to what they were doing now, locked in their own world. Each attendee would have borne witness to the loving caresses of her left hand across his solid back. They might have seen the way they inched closer to each other with each successive circuit. They would have observed their faces, uncharacteristically open in their celebration of shared joy.

But now their only witnesses were the leather-bound tomes of the small library. They cocooned the couple with page after page, of words of joy and happiness, of longing and respect, of heartbreak and humanity. And in the hearts of those hallowed volumes were the stirrings of the couple's friendship and love.

Clever turns of phrase and stunning visions from well-thumbed volumes had entered into their souls in a secret language. They had lain dormant, housed in their sharp minds until those passages transformed into something precious, something that connected their minds to their hearts that increasingly beat for one another. And when their hearts were ready, those secret words were decoded and voiced when neither could hide any longer from the plainest and dearest of truths.

* * *

To be continued.

A/N: *As noted above the story, the song playing is Sonata No. 8 in C minor, op. 13, "Pathetique" by Beethoven.

A/N: Rest assured, their little dance/evening is not yet over. I'm just trying to iron out the details of the last part. In the meantime, let me know what you think! X


	6. Chapter 6

Please forgive the months-long delay on this. I am still on my hiatus, but I had to get this out of my life before it proved to be a true distraction. I hate to make you backtrack, but you may want to reread Chapter 5 before continuing on. Feel free to hit up your music-listening service of choice to play Sonata No. 8 in C minor, op. 13, "Pathetique" by Beethoven. And please refresh yourselves with the following:

* * *

_But now their only witnesses were the leather-bound tomes of the small library. They cocooned the couple with page after page, of words of joy and happiness, of longing and respect, of heartbreak and humanity. And in the hearts of those hallowed volumes were the stirrings of the couple's friendship and love._

_Clever turns of phrase and stunning visions from well-thumbed volumes had entered into their souls in a secret language. They had lain dormant, housed in their sharp minds until those passages transformed into something precious, something that connected their minds to their hearts that increasingly beat for one another. And when their hearts were ready, those secret words were decoded and voiced when neither could hide any longer from the plainest and dearest of truths._

* * *

She couldn't halt herself from surveying his face. There was something particular on his mind, filling it with the intrigue that comes with an irrepressible thought.

Even during the last fortnight, it had become incrementally easier for words she had never dared to hope hearing to spring forth. And so she continued appreciating his handsome face, gazing briefly on his slightly-parted lips, and waited.

They moved closer to the middle of the room as he positively teemed with pleasure.

At last, he finally spoke. His tone was intimate – teetering on the edge of the lowest octave he could manage and a whisper. She had heard it before, when his proposal was breathlessly offered. But now – now she could feel his voice vibrating through his frame to the very fingertips of her left hand. She was left thrumming.

"So this is what you meant," he observed mysteriously with twinkling eyes. The breathlessness was gone, having transferred to her at the sound of his voice.

She blinked rapidly, and his regard only became more apparent. "And what is it that I am supposed to have meant," she questioned.

"Daring us to live a little – this is what you meant."

She beamed with a pearly smile and an upturned face. The music had taken a turn for the adventurous, becoming slightly stronger in volume and purpose. Elsie Hughes was inspired.

"What I meant was to show you that getting your feet wet wasn't such a terrible thing. That it got you all the way to the point of proposing and dancing about the library is quite the bonus."

On any other day he would have at least attempted to appear unimpressed. But the way the light had highlighted her cheeks, how her eyes held an absolute hold over him overrode his rote responses. Everything about her on this eve kept him from repressing his gratefulness for the way she kept after him, inspired him to better himself whether she was aware of it or not.

Instead, he chuckled and smiled in earnest as her soft laughter filled his ears and his heart.

Their rhythmic movements slowly ebbed from waltz time to a slow rocking from foot to foot. Nothing could bother them from their intent focus on one another, even the song that led them to move in unison.

The music had seemed endless, lasting for an eternity with piano fingerings that seem to feed off the humble truth of their love. But now it slowly receded with quiet chords echoing in their ears as they gazed upon each other, bodies flooding with warmth with each passing moment. Still locked in their dancer's embrace, their movements stilled even as their hearts beat with increased vigor.

Only the faint crackle as the record was pulled from the phonograph on air could be heard, and still it did not move them. But the muffled voice of the radio announcer identifying the musical composition and signing off for the night finally roused them from their reverie. The uttered title had put a name to their moment outside of time.

And then, the moment turned.

With reluctance, Elsie Hughes retreated from her betrothed's embrace by running her hand down his upper arm to his elbow.

His eyelids closed and opened languidly, as if he awoke from a dream. But her scent filling his nostrils was very much his touchstone with reality.

Her movements were efficient as she powered down the wireless. He was captive to her movements, the graceful reach forward to place the manual behind the infernal machine. Even in the relative darkness of the room, he could discern more of her stockings encasing her fine legs. Her narrow waist was set off against the darkness and he cursed himself for not exploring it as they danced (at least as far as his sensibilities would allow).

Shaking himself at the thought (she was his betrothed, _but how uncouth_, he berated himself), Charles Carson moved to turn off the few lamps that had illuminated their temporary dance floor.

Sensing his movements, Elsie Hughes turned to open the small library door. Their path was mostly dark, but they knew these halls as they knew each other. The air was cooler in the front hall, tingling her cheeks as she waited for him to join her.

He regarded her shyly before transitioning to the front door, securing it for the evening. Something else was on his mind and she wondered if it mirrored her own. Her breaths grew faintly shallow as they turned towards the hall.

Striding towards the green baize door, he sighed enough for her to hear it as they transitioned towards landing.

She could sense his thoughts – the dread of having to walk down to his pantry to secure his keys – and looked upon him with an empathetic smile.

"You don't have to join me. You should head on up," he intoned even as his eyes unconsciously entreated her to follow him.

Truth be told, she was loathed to part from him tonight and wasn't sure how to express that fact. They had come so far in expressing themselves, but it had only taken them so far.

"What's a few more steps," she admitted, finding solace in the way his smile reached his eyes.

The door now open, he was half a step behind her on the landing as they started down the stairs. She inhaled upon feeling his long fingers softly grasping her elbow on the way down, instantly glad she joined him.

There was no need to wander about in the dark when he arrived in his pantry. It was clear she had wandered in there earlier, leaving the small lamp with a red-fringed shade near his key cabinet illuminated to greet him upon his return. He smiled as he crossed the room to place the keys in the wall cabinet.

As she did all evening, she observed him move through familiar spaces, taking pleasure in the exuded elegance, masculinity, and confidence. She loved to see his long arms sway. But now she knew the joy of them embracing her as they danced.

She regarded him knowingly, even smugly for a moment. And as he crossed towards the mantle, she berated herself inwardly at her raging emotions. Here they were on the verge of retirement, had never shared a lingering kiss, and yet she felt as out of control as a young maid.

Oblivious to her turning thoughts, he felt the burn of her gaze as he went to retrieve the box for his tie pin. In the small mirror above his mantle, he spied her, eyes now downturned towards his desk.

But it wasn't her visage that captivated him. It was her hand, raised towards her captivating neck. He shivered at the sight of her nails softly scraping against the delicate skin along her collarbones, as if she touched him beneath his confining collar.

Soon, his shivering turned to a flush, a rebuilding of the desire that had threatened to overtake him before the evening began.

He was unable to halt from turning towards this goddess. The moon might have been burning bright in his window, but his own Selene* stood before him, her skin glimmering.

Finally, she observed him again. Even in the dim light, she could spy that something was off, strained.

"What's the matter?"

He swallowed and his jaw clenched noticeably at her voiced concern, laced with a husky… something.

"Nothing," he insisted as his eyes betrayed a growing alarm.

_Terrible liar_.

"Perhaps you should sit down for a moment," she suggested, moving to tug at his forearm and guide him gently towards his reading chair. In a moment, his large frame had sunk uncomfortably with his knees uncharacteristically apart from each other.

Now she stood in front of him, her skirt brushing those out-turned knees. He could hear the fabric glide across his trousers and her heels echoing across the stone floor. But that wasn't what set his heart racing. His eyes were now level with her trim waist. He couldn't look away.

She was alarmed at his widening eyes, thought nothing of reaching out to cup his cheek with her right hand. _Perhaps I better sit with him_.

He wanted to ask her something. Wanted to _say_ something. _Needed_ to do _something_.

After their clandestine few weeks, and after that dance, he still felt a stranger to romance outside of his own mind. What was worst, so he believed, was his increasing inability to tame the unbridled feelings she evoked in him. He was proud and guilty as he encapsulated her right hand with his own and gazed unceasingly into her eyes. _What must she think of me? How can I tell her? _

Little did he know he was already articulating his unspoken thoughts – the intense gaze, the delicate pressure of his right hand sliding down the inside of her exposed forearm to cup her elbow, the way his tongue darted out as he unconsciously licked his lips. All of it spoke to her, voicing what he had yet to reveal from his secret heart.

Her eyelids fluttered shut for a moment; her breath held unconsciously as she felt his fingers caress her sensitive skin. The clock beat steadily, but it was already outpaced by the speed of her rapidly-beating heart.

And in that moment, she knew exactly what was the matter.

* * *

The change in her was palpable, he realized with a pained swallow and another lick to his lips.

More than being caught in her gaze, he felt the gravitational pull of its growing, beckoning darkness. And all at once he wasn't sure who began to venture closer to whom.

In the haze, her corseted-clad torso daintily bent forward as he propelled himself incrementally forward in his chair.

But as his eyes landed squarely on her lips, the implications of what was to come caused his right hand to quickly impede her progress.

Halting at the sight of his raised hand, it occurred to her that her bent-over advance was perhaps inappropriate. _Vulgar_, she wondered.

But his need echoed her own – she could feel it in his touch and the way he savored her form that evening. And she shook off the thoughts of vulgarity with a single truth: _nothing vulgar could ever come from this_, this thing between them.

He whispered hastily, even as his need was plain to his betrothed, "I should ask if I may…"

And before he could finish, a single hand on his cheek snuffed out his burning question.

"I should answer that you best be about, then."

Even in that flickering spark of mischief, he could sense the tremulous nature of her thoughts despite the certainty they both felt in that moment.

Concerns were instantly allayed even as his breath caught at her goading entreaty.

Still, his right hand gently guided her to bend towards him as he continued his seated climb to be closer.

Her right hand returned to his cheek as his hands found a home on her upper arms.

* * *

And at once it was awkward, her half-bent and him straining to connect with her parted lips.

_This will never do_, she discovered with exasperation.

The flash in her eyes, though, did not signal something was amiss to her betrothed. It displayed only her determined spark, which called out to him to respond innately, his fingers clenching involuntarily, pulling them towards another milestone.

Her breath left her in her quick descent.

And somehow the intimate tableau, of her perched on his left knee as her own knees brushed intimately against his right, wasn't arrested by thoughts of propriety. For vulgarity had nothing to do with their darkened eyes or their parted lips. It didn't tinge his hand spreading across her back, lowering in a teasing diagonal track until it gently but snugly curled around her hip.

This was impromptu. This was pure.

And all the madding thoughts, of exasperation and organization, of propriety and purity, quieted at the hush of their lips finally meeting.

Somehow they knew to tilt ever slightly as they kept hold of their breaths, unwilling to disturb their forward progress inside this brave new world of the lush and pliable.

Lips that kept feelings at bay for decades began an act of blissful penance.

A single hand, a hand that would one day wear a golden ring, found a home on his chest - to steady and be steadied.

And that contact sent a sound wave from through them, a low and rumbling quality. And soon their breaths came in waves across their fevered cheeks as they reveled in the variety of hard and soft, of unhurried and frantic.

His right hand had kept to to her shoulder, grazed daringly (he thought) across her cheek. But after pulling apart briefly, he was caught by the sapphire-lined darkness of her gaze - quite unlike anything he had ever seen before. And there was nothing to console his lips and his wandering right hand, squeezing gently down her arm until he realized he had come in contact with her thigh.

Stricken, he returned his hand to her cheek, only to pull apart from her becoming lips reluctantly.

Shock colored his features, that is until she inclined towards him, her forehead gently resting against his. His skin was still blazing with the heat of their exertions. But her fierce whisper sent a pleasant chill down his spine.

"I love you."

Inhaling sharply, he consumed the air that conveyed her confession, filling his lungs and very soul with blessed completion.

And with that air he breathed back, reverently, "I love you."

Stillness pervaded the pantry for untold moments, an equilibrium decades in the making.

"Thank you for our dance," he whispered as she pulled away, however minutely within his shroud of warmth and strength. She felt as breathless as he sounded.

Jokingly, she responded, "Perhaps I can talk you into a wireless when we've finally retired."

"I still say it will give you a shock," he persisted despite his wry grin. His chest flooded at the thought of them retiring together after he thought it would never occur. "How about a phonograph and our first record a certain sonata?"

She could feel every word he spoke, her eyelids rapidly responding to that fact.

"I'll consider it," she conceded with a long breath unsuccessfully disguising a yawn.

The nearness of her temporarily displaced his sense of decorum as he conceded, "If we don't go up now, we never will."

His eyes widened after he processed his spoken thoughts. "My Lord," he muttered to the sound of her breathless chuckle. _Future wife, or no, I just propositioned her_. He was mortified.

Gracefully, she ignored his moment of panic for now as she moved to rise. Her whole torso cooled in the evening air and she wondered on the keen loss of the security she felt in his arms.

"It will be a long day tomorrow, if we don't. I'd like to a have a sherry and a quiet evening, myself," she admitted with a tilt to her head as she regarded him fondly.

He flashed to their future, of evenings that didn't have to be contingent upon avoiding any number of skirmishes, to be constrained by formal structure. It was a future to which he could look forward with sublime anticipation.

From the way Mrs. Elsie Hughes looked back at him, he could tell she felt the same way.

* * *

A/N: Selene was a daughter of a Titan god (Hyperion, god of light – the physical and wisdom varieties). Selene was a Moon goddess later known to the Romans as Luna.

A/N: I was going back and forth on whether to include this (that and I could not figure out how to get them into proper make-out mode). Some on tumblr and FFN wanted more, others thought it was fine how I ended on Chapter 5. They may be right, but I did want to add this as a "bonus," if you will.

Please let me know what you think of this now completed diversion into a pre-S6 world.


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